The Secrets of The Clique
by When Cady Met Juno
Summary: The Clique all grown up... But even though it's been years betrayal and secrets doesn't seem to have left them. A story about what happens to all the members of the Clique as their sweet middleschool lives change for the worse...
1. Chapter 1

**Ohmygawd! I don't know how to add chapters so I deleted my old story and made a new one…any help? If any nice person out there is willing to teach me how to add chapters don't be hesitant to message me the ways. Thanks! I hope you enjoy The Secrets of the Clique! **

**-xxcottontin!**

**Massie:** Started a worldwide famous magazine that's the hottest thing since _Vogue_. Couldn't bear to dump her love for fashion so opened six ultra-exclusive boutiques that only appear in four cities around the globe. Right now she's rich, successful, drop-dead hawt, has half the world worshipping her, and is engaged to her gorgeous high school sweetheart. Then why isn't she happy…?

**Alicia:** Didn't end up being a journalist but what the hell. Divides time dishing out gossip on E! News(If she happens to be in the States), modeling for Ralph Lauren, starring in people's music videos, and dating Josh. Life is perfect…until her love for gossip goes too far...

**Kristen:** On a strict diet. Needs to lose two pounds for the upcoming photo shoot. How the hell did she end up as a forever-dieting model and not a famous athlete of some type? Too late to regret the crappy choice. Just broke up with her boyfriend …about to be drafted out into a not-as-popular LBR company…doesn't have time to hang out with TPC...can life suck even more? Apparently it can...

**Dylan:** Took over The Daily Grind after Merri-Lee got pregnant with her newly-wed husband. Is currently secretly dating Kristin's ex…and sucking up diet shakes 24/7 so the camera can stop making her look fat. Determined to lose wait even if it kills her...

**Claire:** Only one who married. Spends her time mostly—if not teaching her kindergarten class--- stuck at home or taking photography. Couldn't be happier with such a simple life. But what happens when her ex-love pops back into town...?

**Derrington:** Just went back to England for his cousin's wedding. Still slightly depressed over the "for the best" high school break-up. Decides that a little mingling with British chicks to get _her_ off his mind wouldn't do him any harm and runs off clubbing. Doesn't expect to meet one of the girls there…

**Cam:** Gave up on soccer. Is now spending an extra eight years at medical school, hoping to become a doctor. Pays a visit a back home and expects to see his wife waiting for him instead of having a WTF??!!! moment...

**Josh:** Models for Ralph Lauren with Alicia. But what would happen if---suddenly--he gave on everything and decided to become a...

Radiance's Office Building

Massie's Office iPad

Saturday, November 13th

5:43 am

"What the hell!" Massie slammed her hands on her glass-and-chrome Proust desk as she let out a high-pitched screech. She shook the cord-less purple-rhinestone-covered mouse again. Nothing happened. She lifted up her cordless _Radiance_-ified keyboard and punched every key. The screen stayed blank. With another ear-piercing screech, Massie grabbed tufts of her hair and started tugging at the ends, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just practically wasted the appointment with Regis; her wavy hair was instantly becoming more and more disheveled and looked like bushy haystack. "Ehmagawd, what am I gonna do?" She buried her head in her black-velvet-coat-clad elbow and groaned.

"Miss Block?" Cecilia's buttery voice was barely audible as she opened frosty glass door a crack and stuck her head in. "I-is everything alright?"

"Me…alright? _Alright?_" Massie lifted her head from her sleeve and stared at her petite secretary will tired amber eyes. "No, Cecilia, everything is not alright! My computer freaking froze! And right when I needed it; I was about to receive a very important message from Vanessa Hudgen's rep to see when we could work out a photo shoot time! Ehmagawd, if I can't reach her then she might think I changed my mind and…" Massie paused from her rant and massaged her temples with one hand. "Oh Gawd I need a cup of coffee! _Cecelia_! Get Bernard for me…and a Chai latte with sugar-free whipped cream." She used her free hand to wave Cecilia away as she continued massaging her aching temples.

"Y-yes Miss Block!" Cecilia squeaked. Her pale, snow white face disappeared and the door quietly shut.

Massie grabbed one of the silky Siberian Down Ophelia pillows (strictly for decoration only) that rested on the back of her white Herman Miller Aeron chair and buried her face into it. The pillow felt exactly like her silk dressing robes in the morning: cold and sleek. Not the greatest feeling when it was thirty-nine degrees outside. Massie chucked the pillow so it landed on her Ralph Lauren animal-print couch, on top of her other cream-colored pillows before rebounding to the sleek black floor. Massie sighed and kicked off her black pumps, trying to get comfortable. She closed her eyes for a brief second and the next thing she knew she was falling asleep, too tired to even know she was falling asleep….

In her dream, she was falling...just falling. And, suddenly, she stopped and her feet rested on the ground, her eyes staring at her Jimmy Choo mules. She looked up and gasped; she was standing in front of OCD. Or at least she thought so. Once she tried unloc-king the front gates she realized that there was a mirror with a gilt frame.

"WTF?" Massie muttered. She glanced behind her shoulder, expecting to see OCD but—instead---there was nothing. Nothing but white walls that seemed to stretch on forever. This was getting really freaky.

"Block…?" A voice called out; the voice was much too deep to be Cecilia's ah-noyingly, anime -like voice or Bernard's scarily girly giggle. "Block…? Where are you…?"

She turned and found herself facing a gold-rimmed mirror that seemed to stretch out forever. Massie stared at her reflection; her eyes rolling over her slim build… her glossy hair that cascaded over her back in sexy brown waves… her bright amber eyes… her normal-sized glossy lips…. She _looked_ normal. If this _was_ a dream she obviously would've seen herself with turquoise eyes---instead of their normal amber---and fuller, redder lips.

"Block…?" The voice called again; its sound seemed to echo around Massie. "Where are you…?"

Massie whipped her head around and looked behind her. Just as she expected, she saw no one.

"Am I really losing it?" she whispered to herself.

"Block…" The voice said again, this time much sweeter and less alarmed.

Massie gasped and slapped her hand to her heart. In the mirror---in front of OCD---_he_—the Prince Charming every girl wanted to meet---was running towards her, his full lips curved into an ah-dorable smile and his hair falling into his eyes.

"Block…"

Without thinking, Massie leaned in to give him a kiss… but instead of the full red lips she was expecting, her lips found something cold and hard. She snapped open her amber eyes and gasped. There was nothing there but the mirror….

An all-too-familiar ring tone rang, shattering Massie's nightmare.

"Ehmagawd!" Massie gasped as she sat up in her chair, thin lines of cold sweat running down her angular face. She rested her hand on her heart and stared straightly ahead, thinking about this dream. Why had she dreamt of him? They hadn't seen each other ever since the break up in high school.

"Miss Block!" Cecilia's honey-coated voice blared over the intercom located on her telephone. "Your phone is ringing---I can hear it out here!"

"Oh shit," Massie muttered as she grabbed her diamond-studded Diamond Crypto Smartphone. "Hello?"

"Hi'ya! It's Leesh!"

"Leesh! Ehmagawd, sweetie, where are you? Clubbing again?" she added, when she heard strains of catcalls and hoots mingling with blasts of samba music.

"Shhh!" Alicia giggled. "Josh doesn't know."

Massie giggled before she remembered the last time Alicia had went clubbing. "Ehmagawd! Didn't Barbara tell you to keep a 'low' profile? Remember last time when those people recognized you as E! News's host…and model…and that babe who starred in that hawt British dude's music video---?"

"Shut up! It's not _my_ fault my wig fell off! Well, anyway, I just wanted to invite you out! So wanna come?"

"Um…" Massie looked at the stack of snow-white papers on her desk that needed signatures and reading.

Alicia must've sensed her bestie's hesitation because she sighed and whined, "Ma-_ssie_! You _have_ to come out _sometime_! I mean I haven't seen you since forever! Now all you do is work! You're turning into a total LBR!"

Massie ran her fingers through her cool hair. Alicia was right; she _was_ turning into a total LBR. "I'll be there."

"Great!" Massie could tell her best friend was smiling. "Meet me at that new club place that just opened by that place by the studio. I don't know what it's called."

"Okay. See you then. Bye…" Massie glanced at her papers once more before shaking her head and sliding back into her black pumps.

"Bye! See ya soon!" Alicia giggled. "Love ya lots!" _Click_

Massie held her phone in her hand, turning it over and examining the tiny diamonds encrusted in. It was probably a good idea to not bring a $1.3 million dollar phone to _any_ club, no matter how stylish and VIP-ish it sounded. She slid a tiny silver key into her first drawer and placed her phone on the little space used for storing phones. She exchanged it for herpurple-Swarovski-crystal-studded Sharp V604SH cell phone and dropped it into her purse. Her hair---she was sure---was an unfixable ball of tangled brown hair so she drew it back into a high ponytail and tied it with her thin silver-and-diamond Tiffany bracelet.

She checked her reflection in her diamond-studded YSL compact for any signs of smudged mascara or out-of-place lip gloss marks and reached for her quilted Chanel makeup bag and took out her mascara stolen from one of the _Radiance_ boutiques. When she finished touching up newly thickened and darkened eyelashes she dropped the diamond-studded tube back into her bag and zipped it up. She strode out her office and almost ran into Cecilia who was standing directly in front of the door, trying to tell a frustrated Rita that Miss Block was busy right now.

"Busy?" Rita snorted and flipped her hennaed hair behind her ear. "Doing what? Sleeping?"

Cecilia opened her mouth to speak but was immediately cut off by Massie.

"Excuse me?" Massie's voice was scarily calm. "But I think that you have papers that need filing and work to do. I don't tolerate slackers."

"Suh-orry," Rita muttered before slouching off.

"Oh Miss Block, are you going out? But you can't! I just had Bernard come but you were sleeping and your appointment with Regis is… Miss Block?"

Massie was too busy buttoning her black cashmere coat to bother listening to Cecilia's rant. Without looking up from the black buttons she said, "I'm going out for a while. Cancel _all _my meetings and postpone them to tomorrow."

She strode to the elevator---leaving Cecilia staring at her perplexed---before hurrying back to her office to collect her cold cup of Starbucks and a stack of paperwork (for the trip there) that needed poring to do.

The Fisher Resident

Kitchen

Monday,

8:23 pm

Claire glanced quickly at the totally ah-nnoyingly ah-dorable chicken-shaped clock hanging on the yellow, country-styled walls. Months ago she would've smiled whenever she saw the funky clock he had gotten but right now… she only used it when it was absolutely necessary. It brought back unwanted, unpleasant memories….

She sighed and continued chopping carrots and celery, the blunt knife cutting through the empty silence. His shift ended at seven-thirty. Where was he now?

"Ehmagawd…where is he?" Claire muttered to herself as she dropped the handful of carrots and celery into the pot of half-cooked chicken soup. "He should've been home twenty-three minutes ago."

She glanced at her watch every few minutes or so as she sliced more apples for the pie she was baking. She tried to cut the apple as slow as she could but thirty minutes later, she had hacked the two apples so much it resembled apple sauce more than diced apples. _Whatever,_ she thought as she scooped the mashed apples with a spoon and dropped it in the pan full of pie-mix-made crust. Claire lifted the pre-made pie crust and covered the top, concealing all signs of apples.

While the soup simmered and the pie baked, Claire killed time by flipping through her shabby collection of magazines. Every one of the magazines Claire owned was an issue of _Radiance_---the magazine Massie started. Even though most of the magazines were a few months---or even years---old Claire still liked reading them; they gave her comfort and soothed her loneliness as if the things on the glossy pages were hawt new gossip being whis-pered to her by Massie or one of the PC. Not that she could talk to them anymore, let alone Massie…Leesh and Kristen and Dylan and Layne and Massie had kept in touch for a couple years when Claire had moved back to Westchester but the communication dimmed when Claire stopped answering their calls or responding to their e-mails. Now the only one she occasionally talked to was Layne, but Layne spent most of the time talking about her "hawt" new boyfriend Louis. Now that she thought of it, she craved the PC's friendship, especially Massie. Over the years she had received gifts from them (Massie had even sent her a really pretty ice blue dress from the outrageously overpriced boutique she opened) but now? If Massie found out what Claire had done she would skin her alive and announce to the world that Claire Lyons Fisher, the used-to-be sweetest girl in America, was a total slutbag-of-a-klepto in disguise.

"Don't think about that." Claire shook her head, causing her white blond hair to spill from the loosely-clipped blue hair comb that held her bun in place. "I'm not doing anything bad! I won't believe it! I won't! I won't!" She covered her ear, ignoring the sting as her hand clanged against the diamond-and-aquamarine chandelier earrings (birthday present from Alicia) hanging from her hears. "I just won't!"

"Won'd whadd?" The open door introduced Claire to a breeze of alcohol, stale beer, and cigarette smoke.

Claire looked up and met the once-sparkling eyes of the man who had just entered; her heart sank as she saw the bottle of Budweiser in his hand.

"Won't whadd?" he slurred again, slumping beside her. He grabbed her pink sleeve and pressed the place where a cigarette had just been (his mouth) onto her mouth.

She pushed his away. "Nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

** I finally had time to update it! But this chapter is all about Dylan & Kristen. I promise more D&M romance soon, but it's just not time yet...so enjoy! remember reviews are always welcomed! thanks!**

** xxcottontin  
**

_**Contrefiche modeler l'agence**_

**_Salles changeantes _(Changing rooms)**

**Monday**

**8:54 am**

"Gawd, I'm hungry!" Kristen moaned as she waited for Fabian to finish coiffing her wispy blond hair into a flowing chignon. She twisted the David Yurman Gold Box Chain Necklace chain that rested on her black, V-shaped neckline around her index finger as she dumped the contents of her black Dolce & Gabbana Patent Tote (strictly used for backstage last-minute makeup/clothes change/hair/etc. only) onto the glossy marble-topped makeup counter. She impatiently sorted through the pile of advertisement gifts: makeup, hair products, perfumes, body products, clothes, and shoes. Nothing. Not even a Luna bar.

"Shhh!" Fabian warned as she sprayed Paul Mitchell's Freeze and Shine Super Spray onto Kristen's hair. "If Gina hears you…ugh!" Fabian slammed the small can down onto the counter's marble top and placed her hands on her slender, size four waist. "Unbelievable!"

"What now?" Kristen hissed; she didn't look up from her pink-and-white Dior Girly Boston Bag(Compliments of Sydney at the PR) as she pawed through, as she searched for any signs of leftover food.

"_What now?" _Fabian repeated. "Your hair is absolutely unworkable! It won't stay and it feels _so_ coarse. Have you been using some kind of horse conditioner?"

Kristen finally looked up, her face puffy and her aqua eyes bloodshot. "No."

Fabian sighed and blew her wispy red bangs away from her eyes. "Look dear, I know it's nawt your fault, but Gina will have my skin if you don't look amazing times a hundred!"

"I know, I know," Kristen muttered, flicking imaginary lint off the black, V-necked L.A.M.B. Crepe Jersey Dress she was modeling. "But what can _I_ do? Yell at my hair?"

Fabian rolled her eyes, pushed up her crisp pink Ralph Lauren button-down's sleeves, and picked up the can of hairspray. "C'mon, K dear, we can _make_ it through this," she said---once she heard Kristen's stomach rumbling loudly---her snappy tone softening a little with, what seemed like, sympathy.

Kristen sighed and continued searching through her bag, barely noticing the change in Fabian's voice. "You don't happen to have any crackers of some sort do'ya?"

"No. And even if I did, I'm not allowed to give you anything. Gina told me you were on a _strict_ diet. You have to lose two pounds for the upcoming photo shoot. It seems like Miss Sixty wants you to model their medium blue 'J-Lot' zipper skinny jeans."

"_Miss Sixty?_" Kristen shrieked, dropping her log-shaped bag; it landed on the glossy wood floor with a dull _thud_. There was just no freakin' way. She---Kristen Marie Gregory--- had come from modeling thousand-dollar Versace dresses on Paris runways and coyly hand-modeling bottles of Gucci's Envy Me in glossy _Vogue_ and _Radiance_ ads. And now this: Miss Sixty jeans. This could _nawt_ be happening.

"Is something wrong, K?" Fabian asked, shellacking her ersatz blond hair with thick, France imported gold glitter hairspray.

"No," Kristen managed to croak.

"If you say so…" Fabian looked a little suspicious but let it go and immediately turned back to coiffing her artificially-sparkly blond hair. "Okay…about your hair…."

Kristen sighed and stared into the row of mirrors. Her eyes absorbed her (probably) cell-dead hair---thanks to the years of PM hairspray, T3 Bespoke Labs T3 Narrow Wet or Dry Ceramic Hair Iron hair straightener-slash-curler Solano Sapphire 11/260 Flat Hair Iron hair crimper, and other photo shoot-need hair supplies---her pale blotchy face that obviously needed layers of makeup to refresh, the purplish rings outlining her bloodshot aqua eyes, her eyebrow-free brow that needed lines of fake "perfect" black eyebrows to be drawn, her pale lips, and her sunken cheeks that begged for sustenance. Kristen cocked her head to the side, looking to see if the hideous, totally-artificial girl sitting in front of the mirror was her. Sadly, it was. Kristen sighed again, wondering why the hell she decided to become a model.

_**Contrefiche modeler l'agence**_

**_Pièce de casier _(Locker room)**

**Monday**

**1:16 pm**

"Ehmagawd, did you hear what happened to Kristen?" Lindsay's loud, raspy whisper carried along the white walls of _Contrefiche modeler l'agence's_ locker room. Kristen stopped fluff-ing her 'unworkable' blond hair, peeled her eyes away from the leaf-shaped mirrors hanging by the bathroom's wall, and turned her head in the direction the raspy voice came from. She shoved her glossy, faux turtle shell Frederic FekkaiClassic hair brush and her 8 oz bottle of Frederic Fekkai Fini Sheer Hold Hairspray into her Harajuku Lovers Juku Bowling Bag and braced herself for the response.

"No what?" Someone that sounded lik_e _Sage breathed back. Kristen gritted her expensively-bleached white teeth and clenched her fists. It sounded as if the rail-thin totally ah-nnoying Ballerina trio was gossiping about her---again. The Ballerina trio had a reputation of being total backstabbing hypocrites and Kristen was forever wondering why they would call someone a _"__Gehässige Dirne"_ (Bitchy whore in German. The Ballerina trio girls were all German) the moment a person, other than themselves, were within earshot and then gush to the world that that person was their _"Gottschwester"_ (Gawdsister) the second they arrived.

_I mean if they hate someone that much why don't they just do what I do? Ignore them, spread a ton of rumors, and then announce to everyone that the girl was a pathetic, fuggly, bitch-faced whore. That's what the rest of the modeling world would do._

"Gossip is that Gina wants to move her to another company," Lindsay continued. A sharp snapping sound told Kristen that she had probably snapped her compact shut. Kristen rolled her eyes; the wannabe-vintage leader of the totally LBR group was always the first one to toss around trash she called "gossip" and always the first one that pissed the shit outta her.

"_Unmöglich_ I thought she was, like, Gina's favorite!" Kristen was sure it was Ellyn---the thinnest one in the entirely blond trio---tawking this time.

"Not _anymore_," Lindsay said smugly. "I overheard Gina say that Kristen's getting a little to 'muscular' for modeling. I mean aren't models supposed to be graceful and elegant instead of being _athletes_?" The way she pronounced the word _"athlete"_ was exactly the way little kids pronounced the word _"kiss"_

"Yeah…I guess you're right," Sage said slowly.

"_Offensichtlich_, Sage!" Lindsay scoffed. "In fact, I'll be counting the days till she leaves!_Hoffnungsvoll ist das nicht lang!" _

" "_Traurig_," Ellyn murmured, giggling a little. "How sad. Poor little Kristen." Kristen could hear the ring of her slamming her locker door shut.

"My ass!" Lindsay snarled. "I get tired just looking at that conceited little_ Bumser_! In fact, I'm happy that she lost favor with Gina! I mean from Dior to _L.A.M.B_! And her hair! Have you noticed Fabian's been spending less time with it?" she barely paused for breath and continued. "And check out her bags! You know that expensive Dior bag she has?"

"Which one?" Sage asked sarcastically. Kristen bet she was rolling her eyes.

"The girly Boston bag," Lindsay huffed impatiently; she obviously wanted to spew out trashy garbage than to go with the details. "Well, it was a _Werbegeschenk _from her friend that works a PR place! And that bag she has today? Well, it's only seventy-five bucks!"

"_Unmöglich!_" Sage and Ellyn shrieked together. "Not possible!"

"_Ja._" Lindsay sounded smug. "I only speak the truth. You know I bet that dress she's wearing today is also a _Werbegeschenk_ from her friend!"

"Maybe…" Ellyn said, hesitantly. "But you want Kristen to be transferred _tha_t bad?"

Lindsay sighed. "Yes! C'mon, girls, let's _gehen_. I can't be late for my _Ballett Kategorie_!"

Kristen---who had been leaning inconspicuously by the door-less doorway---and slowly slid down the wood walls, not caring if she wrinkled her new Madison Marcus's silk button front shirt dress. Not that it mattered; everyone in _Contrefiche modeler l'agence _probably thought it was another gift from Sydney at the PR or an advertisement prezzy from Saks or whatever. Did everyone in the agency want her to leave that badly? Even Gina and Fabian? Kristen closed her eyes and an f-ing damn if she accidentally cracked her Dolce & Gabbana-gold-shell-covered Motorola Motorizr Z6, or if her 4oz custom-made crystal bottle of Gucci's Envy Me (A special thank-you gift from Saks) smashed and shattered glass and perfume onto her Frederic Fekkai hairspray, her faux tortoise comb, her YSL Parfums eye makeup remover, her La Prairie Microdermabrasion cream, a bottle of Clinique's Take The Day Off makeup remover, her makeup bag stamped with boxy rainbow Coach logos containing all the free Sephora makeup given to her, her Sisley's Lightening toning lotion, her L'Occitane Shea Butter Hand cream, a red Chloé Paddington wallet, her Oliver Peoples Mariett Glam sunglasses and a pair of Marc Jacobs's Signature sunglasses (backup pair). She didn't want to care about _anything_---especially those freebies from those designer stores that wanted cheap advertisement. She just wanted out on this modeling business.

_**Après dix barre de jazz (After Ten Jazz Bar)**_

**_Secteur de barre _(Bar area)**

**Tuesday**

**12:21 am**

Dylan slid off her black Thomas Wylde Drifter Rivet leather jacket so there was no way Max could miss her Jean Paul Gaultier Fringed wrap dress that hugged her size two body beautifully. Glancing to make sure the young bartender wasn't anywhere near her, she adjusted the Columbo Chalf Stripe cashmere scarf that was draped around her head so a few red curls peeked out and swiped two coats of Chanel's Lévres Scintillantes Glossimer gloss onto her already-glossed lips. She fished her emerald-studded Chanel compact out of her chocolate brown Marc by Marc Jacobs Dr. Q Groovee bag and quickly powered her dewy complexion, with Chanel's Irréelle Soleil bronzing powder---Toundra---blush before Max arrived. Dylan rolled her eyes and smiled as she snapped her compact shut; she was _so_ acting like Massie.

"Hey, you," A sweet voice called out, quickly overpowering the soft jazz playing.

Dylan dropped her black compact back into her bag and covered her freshly-glossed lips with her hands. "Ehmagawd! I missed you so much!" Dylan whispered-yelled; she threw her thin, tawny beige Chanel-foundation-drenched arms around his muscular torso, her arms wrinkling his Giorgio Armani's Attitude-scented purple McQ Alexander McQueen Dove tee.

Max smiled sadly and hugged her even more tightly, kissing the top of her head. "I missed you too, Pickles." He rested his cheek on top of her bright red hair and closed his eyes for a second, letting his conscience drain from his mind, just standing there inhaling Dylan's new signature scent: Marc Jacobs's cucumber Spring Splash.

His fingers hesitantly moved to her cheek as he slid his lips down to her lower jaw. "I missed you a lot," he murmured before suddenly pulling away.

Dylan grabbed his hands and stared into his dark eyes. "What's up?" she begged, her eyes pleading and her voice desperate.

He stared at his Vans and took a deep breath. "We…wecan'tseeeachotheranymore."

"What?" Dylan gasped, her throat suddenly becoming dry. She continued gazing into his dark chocolate eyes, her wide emerald eyes desperate, searching for any signs of mischief or playfulness. "Is this some kind of joke?"

He forced a laugh. "I wish."

"I don't get it," Dylan whispered. "W-why?"

Max bit down on his lower lip and tipped his head even lower. A thick, choppy layer of dark blond hair clouded his face. After a long pause he finally spoke, "We just can't."

"Is it because you don't want the paparazzi to see me with you?"

After another long pause Max admitted sheepishly, "Something in that category."

Dylan's jaipur-pink lips dropped open. She wished that she could do something TV-drama-worthy dramatic---like cry or slap the guy's face---but all she could do was stand there with her mouth open like a total idiot.

"Dyl, I'm really sorry," Max murmured. His eyes seemed pleading. "I really am sorry for getting you into this mess. The only way out is if we stop seeing each other."

"Not even in private?" Dylan whined.

Max finally cracked a smile.

"But why can't you just tell me why we can't see each other?" she went on as she casually loosened a few more strands of fiery red hair. Her Bumble and Bumble-washed hair was starting to sweat under the thick black scarf.

Max peeked at her through his wall of golden brown bangs. "_You know_."

"Huh? _What?_ You never told me."

"It's in every issue of _any_ magazine and it's on, like, every channel. Haven't you been reading your friend's magazine---_Radiance _or whatever it's called---lately?

Dylan shook her head. She had been to busy for the last few months dreaming about Max and going over _The Daily Grind _shoots to read gossip magazines. Or to watch E! News.

"Look Dyl, I know this is hard but…" Max suddenly stopped and whipped his head around, his chocolate-colored eyes scrutinizing the dimly-lit bar.

"What?" she asked, her eyes following his gaze. She gasped; hidden behind the ring of booths were reporters, dozens of them all bearing caps that read _People_ or _Vogue_ or what-ever. Even black-vested reporters from _Radiance_ were poised behind an awe-struck couple.

"Shit." Max groaned. He turned to Dylan and commanded, "Run,"

Dylan gulped and nodded, shielding her face with her hand and scarf before bolting towards After Ten Jazz Bar's entranceway. The pap---knowing they had blown their cover---swarmed around the candle-flecked bar, pestering Max with their "Is this your new flame" "how long how you guys been secretly meeting" blab. A few reporters actually chased after her, screaming questions but she ignored them and continued bolting for the door.

She ended up making it out; she was so familiar with this bar that she practically knew every secret passage out. Dylan took a deep breath and checked her shoes; the left heel of her black Jimmy Choo mules was snapped in half. She leaned against the brick wall and placed her hand on her heart and started sobbing. She now knew why the all the girls in those forbidden love drama shows killed themselves in the end. Forbidden love sucked.


End file.
